MARCH WINDS 



the mad March winds have swept the last 

 brown leaves from the bushes, and such 

 moths as hang up there for the winter 

 sleep are easily seen. You may take them 

 home and hang them up wherever you 

 see fit, and you will then be on hand to 

 greet the moth when at his leisure he 

 feels prompted to come forth from his 

 snug sleeping-bag. 



I always find more of the spice-bush 

 silk-moth than any others, perhaps be- 

 cause we both love the same woodland 

 spots, borders of the ponds and streams 

 where the benzoin and sassafras flourish, 

 or upland pastures where the wild cherry 

 hangs out its white racemes in May. 

 They dangle freely in the wind, looking 

 for all the world like a left-over leaf 

 rolled by accident into a rude cylinder. 

 Yet the moth is safe and warm within, 

 rolled up in a silken coat that is firmly 

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